


The Game

by Clocketpatch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-23
Updated: 2007-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the TV movie explaining where that weird bondage-type thing the Master used on Eight came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is the first thing I've ever written that passes into adult territory. I posted it about ten minutes ago, got scared and took it down, now I'm posting again. I'm nervous okay? *ducks under table* But it's spent far too long rotting on the back of my hard drive so now the world gets to see it. Hopefully they won't be as terrified by it as I am.
> 
> * * *

  
The Doctor's TARDIS was a mess, a mausoleum, a jumble yard sale. Did the man never throw anything out?

No.

And it was a fact that made the Master's upper lip lift half in smile, half in scorn. Because, though the upper decks of the ship had been decorated and re-decorated over the centuries, the lower decks and far reaches of the ship's pocket dimension remained the same.

He hadn't changed the room they shared all those lives ago.

More than that. It looked like he visited regularly.

The Master laughed. Not a kind sound: an ejection of air and noise with a breeze of evil on the tip. He stalked the old room, exploring furniture with his fingertips: The desk, The chair, The bed where they had –

And, ah. The dresser. He slid his fingers around the handle of the lowest drawer and pulled. The man really did throw nothing out.

He felt the soft, red silk crinkle under his touch. The extravagant collar. It was ridiculous. The epitome of Gallifreyian bad taste, and that was why they had used it. And underneath. Cool metal. The Master laughed at the cruel restraints, but only shortly. His stolen features turned wistful. His cat eyes closed and he remembered.

Once this had been a joke, a game. Once the Doctor had given his submission willingly. He had bared his flesh and his senses to his best friend's trust without a second thought. Once –

It had been a demented agreement between lost souls. Perhaps neither of them had truly enjoyed it. One wearing the robe and the rack while the other –

It had been nothing. No relationship. No love. Only a ritual of symbols, an affront to the stagnant society they had fled. An expression of all they could do now that they had left such bonds behind them. An expression of hate that those bonds had ever been laid on free spirits such as themselves.

Only _he_ had insisted on laying more bonds. Deciding, perversely, that they must check their great powers and become like the dusty old men they had escaped. It was his fault that it had come to this.

Tonight they would play the game again.

The Master tugged on the ridiculous silk robe and positioned the farcical collar. He looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror and laughed for a third time. He looked a fool, but it did not matter. The costume was a dagger blade to be twisted and turned. He lifted the metal bondage apparatus from its bed in the dresser and ran a finger along its side rejoicing at the spikes and sharp edges. His tongue laced across his lips in anticipation.

Ah yes, how they would play.

 

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=12553>


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